The Prodigal Sun by Sean Williams, Shane Dix Page B

successful—which was still by no means certain.
    While the bridge bustled around him, Kajic accessed Klose’s files and restudied the captain’s profile. Klose’s service record, stolen by Espionage Corps spies from COE Armada databanks, was long and unremarkable. CEO of an old frigate, normally given unimportant duties, Klose had been marked as a conservative living off remembered glories, full of hubris, disrespectful of the “new breed” of well-educated military administrators, stubborn and authoritarian—much like the Commonwealth he served. The possibility that Klose had also been unstable was something Kajic had not considered—had no reason to consider. There was nothing in the man’s records to warrant it.
    Klose had taken his own orders—to prevent the Dato Bloc from capturing the AI—to the absolute extreme. He had done so knowingly, choosing death before surrender, and had taken his crew with him, regardless of what their individual choices might have been.
    Unexpected, yes. But if Kajic had not counted on Proctor Klose’s reaction, then the opposite was also true: Klose could not have anticipated Kajic’s own response to the situation. He had no intention of letting the destruction of the Midnight prevent him from fulfilling his mission. Nor would he permit any interference from the prison planet itself to stop him. Nothing was going to get in the way. Not even his often debilitating fear of failure.
    priority gold-one
    He forced the fear down, away from the surface. If there was one thing Kajic was, it was focused on the mission.
    His orders had been explicit, and ranked in order of priority. These three priorities had been stamped into the fine mesh of bio-implants infiltrating the tissues of his living brain to ensure that there could be no possibility of misunderstanding their significance. No matter how omnipotent he felt at times—with his mind roving the labyrinthine networks of the Ana Vereine —priorities A to C were a constant reminder of his limitations, of just how much he owed the machines in his coffin.
    Life. Senses. Command. Duty:
    (A) - capture the AI;
    (B) - capture Roche;
    (C) - perform (A) and (B) with as much stealth and speed as possible.
    Focused.
    “Atalia?”
    His second returned instantly to his side, as though proximity to his image actually meant something. Microphones and cameras scattered throughout the Marauder provided him with the ability to communicate with anyone, anywhere, at any time he wished. She, of all the people on board, should have known that. Had she forgotten this, he wondered, or was it a deliberate action?
    But then, he reminded himself, this was one of the many things the experiment was designed to test. Was effective command dependent on genuine physical presence, or could it be simulated? Could a simulation breed resentment, even fear, among those it was supposed to deal with most effectively?
    “Sir?” Makaev’s voice was as controlled as it always was.
    “Dispatch shuttles to examine the larger pieces in situ.”
    She frowned. “If we do that, sir, we will be unable to leave until the shuttles have returned.”
    He manufactured a glower and turned its full force on her. “Are you questioning my orders?”
    “Of course not, sir, but—”
    “Then see that they are carried out immediately.”
    Makaev turned away and relayed the order to a subordinate while Kajic watched the Midnight explode an uncounted time and let the anger percolate through him.
    He would not allow this temporary setback to get on top of him. He would not allow himself to doubt that he was capable of fulfilling the expectations of those who had designed him. He would not, could not, afford to fail.
    It was just a matter of time.

4

    COEA Lander M-3
    ‘954.10.30 EN
    0775

    Roche slammed back into the couch, the valise crushing her rib cage and forcing the air from her lungs. The roar of the thrusters threatened to split her eardrums. She wanted to turn her head to